“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”
~T. S. Eliot
The Avengers hatched a plot to draw out Eccardian Drovenge and the Heroes of Westcrown, to take their measure, and see what they had on their hands.
An estimated 6,000 people packed into the Devildrome for the festival – given how bad things had gotten lately, the city was coming out in droves for an event (especially one that promised a brew-off!) that could help them forget the troubles of their increasingly hellish landscape.
Eccardian’s plan was simple; provide an example of strong leadership for the city, never mind the cost, or who paid it. General Vourne’s army will be arriving in a matter of days: with no clear leader in place, Vourne Dragonsbane will have no choice but to institute his own particular brand of martial law; no mercy for criminals. His definition of crimes includes worship of non-asmodean dieties, being a tiefling, Or’keth, or other manner of planar refugee (special exceptions for elves; they might get a district or the like).
After (un)pleasantiries were exchanged, and one hell of a brew-off, the sky darkened. Meteor Swarms rained down upon the gathered crowd, killing hundreds with each impact.
The crowd saw “The Golden Hero” attack the swarm; the crowd did not see Niklas von Wundras dispelling the meteors as Eccardian punched them, seemingly out of existence.
It was a setup. 2,400 dead, and counting. For publicity.
Then This Fucking Guy shows up cackling in the sky. Eccardian took off after him, and got knocked to the ground, much to his surprise.
The Avengers, having done what they could to evacuate the crowd, was in no mood for this kind of thing. So Kiara Aldaeth possessed the demon-thing, and the remaining Avengers proceeded to essentially curb-stomp the thing.
And somewhere on the plane of Shadows, a voice in screams waits.
One way or another, it won’t be long now.